


Song of Myself

by MrsOkita



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Robin: Son of Batman (Comics), Super Sons (Comics), Superman (Comics)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Fluffy Ending, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24138997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsOkita/pseuds/MrsOkita
Summary: The Titans has a new member, Jon catches someone’s eyes, and Damian has a crisis. In the middle of it all, he also seems to have unrequited feelings.
Relationships: Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne
Comments: 26
Kudos: 233





	Song of Myself

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a mixed inspiration from that quite unpretentious teenage romantic comedy “The Half of It” and Damian’s absolutely shocking skill of giving people gifts (I mean, I was thinking about Bruce’s mom's pearl - which, really, how could it still be there after so many years, does nobody cleans Gotham ever? - and Bruce and Alfred’s vacation, in which Damian gave them both nice things from the past. And, of course, let’s not forget Jon’s videogame for Christmas). This to say that this fic is equally unpretentious and silly, just a bit of fun with Super Sons.
> 
> Also, I’m ignoring canon here. There’s no six years older Jon, he lived his life without being put in danger by his own family, is still three years younger than Damian and in this fic he’s 20. He’s majoring in Literature because in my headcanon he’ll grow up to be a teacher.
> 
> The title is one of Walt Whitman’s poem, released in 1855. For reasons. It gets clearer along the story.

Although he decidedly got better with years, Damian still didn’t like meeting new people. Worse yet, working with them. Worse than worse yet, meeting and working with new people who were problematic, younger, and not afraid of him. Damian didn’t know what was wrong with teenagers these days. But the fact was that this one was kicked out from Diana Prince’s big ass Amazonian family because she apparently was undisciplined and was putting Themyscira in danger.

Damian said no at first, of course, when his dad came to ask him to let her join the Titans. It wasn’t because his dad did have a soft spot for Wonder Woman that Damian would do her favours that were out of question. But he eventually had to give in when the rest of the team just thought it was a _great idea, Damian, we are needing new blood to help us_. Damian couldn’t disagree harder.

But then again, she was useful at the first few missions they went out with her. Despite being still nineteen and reckless, she was well trained, and obstinate. Quite a bit too much, which meant that sometimes she would get out of the formation to do whatever the hell she pleased to knock down a villain. That would possibly be what Amazonians meant with _undisciplined_.

Was one of these times that Damian sincerely thought she would die. They were fighting big, half hawks sort of monsters, the type of danger the Titans usually got, when she went out from the defensive spot he had put her and got knocked over, one hawk claw pressing down her neck on the floor.

“Myrina!”, Damian called, before other beast went after him and blocked his way towards her. He heard her yell, and was doing his best to free himself to help her when there was a sudden red, heated ray coming over. The half hawk holding him was on the ground. When Damian glanced over, so was the one previously over Myrina. She was being held up by that stupid, big grinning idiot.

Superboy.

“Need a hand?”, Jon winked at him, because he _knew_ Damian hated to be saved at any circumstances. He also hated to be happy to see Jon when dealing with inhuman, creepy beasts with powers.

“Glad to have you, super”, Gar shouted from his own fight, taking the form of a big, green bear against the half bird of prey.

And as soon as Superboy got there, the fight went eight percent easier. Jon was getting good with his powers as time passed by - it was still a mystery, sometimes, how certain characteristics of his father would develop on him, having mixed genes, but what he could already understand he had mastered at fast speed.

“Are you all ok?”, Jon asked, when the last one of their enemies was unconscious on the ground.

“Yes, thank you, sweetie”, Koriand’r answered, one hand on his shoulder. It was amusing how she treated him like he was still ten; then again, for how much she lived, Jon was still possibly close by.

“So I’m sorry to rush, but I got to go”, Jon said, pointing out. “I have some matters to take care of at Metropolis”

Damian stared at him and raised one eyebrow, “Don’t you have classes now?”

And Jon had the dignity of looking mildly embarrassed. “Was in the middle of it”. As Damian’s brows furrowed and he was about to open his mouth to protest, Jon cut in, “I _know_. Mom gets as pissed as you”, and Damian didn’t know either if he liked to be so bluntly compared to _Lois Lane_. “I’m not doing it on purpose, I swear”, Jon stopped and looked up for a second, considering, “Well, only sometimes. About two times a day. And that’s it”.

Aqualad looked over every member of Titans and then back to Superboy, “Is somebody understanding any of this?”

Damian grunted. Starfire shook his head, and Beast Boy just shrugged.

“I sort of…”, Jon started, purposefully avoiding eye contact with Damian. “I sort of keep tabs on some people’s heartbeat from time to time to check if they’re well. I mean… Two times a day. Sometimes.”

“And one of them is Robin?”, Aqualad questioned, eyebrow raised.

“Yes. Mom, dad, and Robin, mostly”, Superboy admitted. “That’s how I knew you were probably needing some help now. I mean, _he_ was, and then I found you all”. And Damian _was_ furious about this because one, he didn’t need any bloody bodyguard to check if he was safe all the time. He was the son of Batman, heir of the Al Ghul dynasty, he could handle his own fights. And two, because if Jonathan kept running over ever every time there was a problem with anyone he moderately cared about, he would probably have very little to live his own life. They _had_ argued about this before. And at that time Jonathan had said about Lois too, since she was rightfully bothered by her son keeping worrying himself over her instead of living through his days. “But don’t worry”, Jonathan continued, trying to avoid the subject, raising both of his hands in surrender, “Not keeping track on anyone anymore! I really have to get going, see you all later”.

And then, as sudden as he appeared, he was gone flying. Damian was still feeling pissed when a voice raised over the newfound silence,

“Well, he can keep track on _me_ any time he wants”.

All of the Titans turned over to Myrina, who was just staring at the path Jonathan made on the sky. When she noticed the attention she turned to them, “What? Am I wrong? Who _is_ this cutie pie and why isn’t he on our team?”

If Damian could go back in time, he would probably pick this moment as the start of one of the craziest things he had ever done in his life, dying and resurrecting with strange powers included. But he was still clueless, so he just picked his scattered weapons on the floor and answered Myrina with his sharpest leader voice,

“None of your business”.

“He’s Jonathan”, Kori replied less than a second later. Damian really needed to work on his authority. “Superboy, son of the Kryptonian”.

“What's the problem with you aliens and secret identities?", Damian complained, because _really_. It was like they didn’t know the concept. “Let’s just get out of here, our work is done”.

The rest of the Titans started to get ready to leave, finally obeying anything Damian said, for once. He could only heard a tiny murmur of Myrina before they were out of the place:

“Quite super indeed”.

Damian rolled his eyes. “Was I that annoying when I was a teenager?”

Kori smiled at him, so sweet if it wasn’t for the traitor words that followed, “You were kind of worse”. 

* * *

A week passed. Damian was again at San Francisco because he was old enough to want to do his own things, but apparently not to his father, so sometimes the Titans Tower was a good place to scape. Day by day he understood more Richard Grayson; it was nice to be Robin, but the title went up with both things: a legacy and a stagnation. Damian was kind of bored of both.

He was thinking just about that, sewing the R on his uniform, when he sensed some movement. He put himself on alert, heads up, hand going slowly in the direction of his belt. Then a blond haired head appeared from behind the door and he relaxed,

“It’s you”.

Myrina smiled at him. “Hello there, tiny boss”.

Damian sort of hated her sometimes. No big news, though, Damian sort of hated everyone. He decided to ignore her presence and get back to what he was doing, fortunately she wouldn’t be there for long.

But he realized he couldn’t be more wrong when she approached him, pulling a chair over and putting right next to his. She sat down,

“I was wondering”, she started, and Damian much less than hummed to indicate he heard it. “That Superboy guy, that we met the other week…”, Damian raised his head just enough to look at her for a second, “Is he seeing someone?”

He frowned. “Not that I’m aware of”. Or not that he would _care_ , he almost completed, just to show Myrina that he was not interested in having this conversation. Like ever. Especially if it was Jon they were talking about. Damian couldn’t really picture Jon and dating in one same sentence. Yes, he was an adult now, supposedly not ugly with that stupid smile and messy hair, and he possibly actually dated people, but that was just off limits of Damian's train of thoughts.

“Kori said you know him well”, she continued, positively ignoring that Damian went back to his sewing like she wasn’t there. Also, did Kori have something against him? “Do you think you can give me a few tips?”

“On what?”, Damian replied, almost grunted, head low and focus on his needle. He missed her rolling her eyes before answering, matter of factly, like it was the most obvious request in the world,

“On getting him to go out with me”.

Damian stopped on his tracks. He slowly got his head back up to look at Myrina, one eyebrow raised. “Jonathan?”, he asked, almost on autopilot, just to be sure who they were talking about. “You want to go out with Jonathan?”

Myrina smiled at him, and if he didn’t know her any better he would have thought she was a cute, innocent girl, “Yes”.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, because everything about that sounded absurd enough even for a reply. “You met him _once_ ”, was what he settled for, a bit of reasoning among all of that insanity.

“That’s why I’m asking your help, dumbass”, she retorted, and Damian was so startled that he let the _dumbass_ part pass, “You’re smart”, she paused for a second, “ _allegedly_ , and you know the guy for years. You could tell me a few things he likes, maybe help me write him a letter?"

"And why do you think I would waste my time helping you with something so stupid?”, Damian questioned, almost dropping the uniform from his hands and holding it back on the last second. Seriously, he could help if she wanted more training, some expertise on foreign language, fighting skills, but then she came asking for what? Tips to suck Jonathan’s face? _Jonathan_ , of all people. He just couldn’t deal with teenagers.

Myrina rolled her eyes, “C'mon, it would barely ‘waste your time’", she said, mimicking quotes with her fingers, "Just tell me something that he likes. Like, right now. Can’t you think of anything?"

Damian stared back at her for what seemed like a long time of silence. He pondered his options, and in none of those she would let him go without something, so he sighed and gave in, for the peace of the rest of his day. He hoped he could forget this conversation altogether sooner than later.

“He likes literature”. Her face glowed; big, wide smile spread on her lips with the information. “It’s his major at Met U. Happy now? That’s something he likes, now go bother someone else”. _And please not Jon_ , crossed Damian’s mind, but he let that thought unsaid.

* * *

Damian had two days of quiet, normal life, even with regular crimes at Gotham that he could solve without much trouble, no calls from the Titans Tower, and no fight between Titus and Alfred, the cat. Two days, enough for him to sit on a rooftop of a building on his city, stare at the lack of the bat signal on the sky, and wonder if someday it would be the end of vigilance as they knew it.

His peace was cut abruptly, someone jumping behind him, not bothering to make their presence unknown. He knew why on the second she spoke,

“I was looking for you”.

Too bad she found him, Damian thought. “Something the matter?”

“I want your help”, Myrina sat beside him, full of joyful youth, and Damian had a bad dejá-vù of the last time he saw her _and_ she asked for his help. It had been too soon, not enough for him to erase the trauma. Then she took a folded piece of paper from her suit and shove it on his hands, “Read this and tell me what you think”.

He did, besides his better judgment. Damian knew what it was even before he started to put the letters together. It was a small note, no signature, which meant she intended to keep her infatuation anonymous for now. In the middle of the paper it read:

_I wish I had x-ray vision to read your body like a book._

Damian frowned. “What the hell is _this_?”

The hopeful expectation glued on her face while he read the note melted in slow motion, giving clear space to frustration instead. “You said he likes books!”

" _Yes,_ and that's the best you could come out with it?", Damian stared at her, dumbfounded. He almost made a mental note to talk to Diana about amazonian’s education, because it was clearly lacking. Then again, it could be only Myrina’s problem. “Look”, he started, like giving her a lecture, the way he used to do when teaching people fighting moves, “Jon grew up on a family that’s all about everlasting love and devotion, which means he’s a romantic idiot. You can’t write him that and expect that he’ll want to go out with you”.

Myrina looked at him with a pained expression. And Damian _knew_ , really, really knew he shouldn’t be doing this, that it would be like signing a contract with the Devil, the way only Raven would know, but somehow on his path to be a better person and a lesser cold blooded assassin, perhaps he went too soft.

“Do you have a fucking pen or something?”

On a quick motion Myrina took a pen out of her suit, where the note was before, and handed it to him. Damian scratched the atrocious line she wrote out and started writing bellow,

_You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,_

_But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,_

_And filter and fibre your blood._

_Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,_

_Missing me one place search another,_

_I stop somewhere waiting for you._

“That’s…”, she started, reading the last line over his shoulder, “really poetic”.

Damian rolled his eyes, “That’s a poem, stupid. It’s Walt Whitman”. He handed the piece of paper back to her along with the pen. It sounded fitting in his head, giving her wish of not signing it. 

Myrina stared at him like he suddenly got an extra head, though, “You know a _poem_ by heart?”

“I know a lot of things”, he replied, because he did.

“And do you think Superboy will like this?”

Damian shrugged, because _that_ one he didn’t know, actually. He could take a wild guess, like he did whenever he got out of his way to do something for people, but he couldn’t never affirm for sure. “Just give him and see”.

* * *

Happened that it wasn’t Myrina the one to bring him the news on how Jon took the note. The next week Damian was at Blüdhaven, other path of his many ways to recently avoid Gotham. It was his least favor, to be honest. Damian kind of hated that city, it all seemed too provincial, including crime. I mean, what other place would have technology as its worst enemy?

On the better part of it, it had _Richard._ Who still called him _kid_ , even when he already completed twenty three years old. What Blüdhaven lacked on San Francisco, it compensated on having someone he could talk to when being Robin was kind of a downer. They’ve had conversations like this before, many times, ever since Damian was really only a kid. That day, Dick called him for a chill out night, movies and beer, because it was _great to finally be able to drink with you, kid,_ even though Damian was legal to drink since two years ago and Dick still said that every time.

The news was that when he finally got there, driving R-Cycle to arrive faster, Dick wasn’t exactly alone. Damian witnessed that sometimes too, finding Dick not alone when he needed to look for him, but it was usually some girl or another, and not really the last person he expected to see on Blüdhaven.

“What are you doing here?”, he asked, bluntly, honestly curious, the first thing he stepped inside Dick’s apartment.

“Hello to you too, D.”, Richard was the one who answered, walking back from the kitchen’s direction to the living room, two beer cans on his hand. “This is Jonathan Kent, I suppose you met him”, he joked, pointing to Jon on the couch. He gave Jon one of the beer cans as he spoke, but Damian interrupted him,

“It makes no sense to give him that, it has no effect on his blood”.

“Really?”, Dick turned to Jon, a tone of surprise on his voice. 

Jon offered him a small, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you sooner”.

“Doesn’t matter”, Dick said, then, walking further to Damian and giving him the second beer can instead, “Still can eat popcorn and watch movies, can’t you?”

And Damian just stood there, unmoving in front of the door, staring at that weird picture of his older brother socializing on his apartment with his childhood friend. Two big world’s superheros, from different generations, talking about _popcorn_ and _movies_. He could take a shot of what that all meant, for a start: Dick Grayson and his habit of making everyone love him.

“Will somebody explain this to me?”, Damian asked, then, finally moving to take his shoes off. He thought he sounded like a child who is the last one to know about things, and he didn’t like it one bit.

He saw Jon open his mouth to reply, but Richard talked over it,

“I invited him. I met Jon and Clark at the Justice League Watchtower today. Since I had an appointment with you, and I know you two are friends, I took the liberty to call him over for our beer and movie night. Minus the beer for him now, though”, he completed, on an afterthought.

Well, Damian should have seen that coming. Not their meeting at the Justice League Watchtower that day, because, by the way, he didn’t even know that something happened there, but Dick finding an excuse to befriend every person who walked on earth grounds, even if they were not entirely _from_ Earth itself. He glanced over at Jon, who was staring back at him and waiting for their eyes to meet to give a smile and a small shrug.

* * *

Dick drank a lot more than Damian could handle - not that he was going to admit it out loud to anyone, because it surely meant that he failed on _something_ \- so he usually stopped at three beers and let Dick finish the rest by himself, which always led to him sleeping soundly by the second half of any movie they chose to see. On the first half, though, it was when they took their time to also not actually pay attention to anything on the tv screen and just vent out about how difficult it could be to have Batman as a partner.

This time, exceptionally, there was Jon, so Damian didn’t speak about his questions or his recent concern of not wanting to be Robin anymore. They really saw the first part of the movie, and it was good, in a way, because it kept his mind out of problems for a while. Then Richard slept, head falling to his side, and Damian heard Jonathan murmur, quiet enough to not disturb, even maybe too much, considering the sound of the television still on:

“I’m sorry. He insisted quite a lot. He told me movies and beer, but didn’t really say you were coming”.

Damian turned his head to him, “I can imagine”. Then he pointed over to the balcony, “Want to catch some air?”

They let the movie playing, some part related to trials or something, because Dick had an enormous collection of buddy cop films. It had a good weather that night, a light breeze and a full moon, and Damian gazed at it in silence for a while until Jon spoke,

“Are you ok?”

Damian was full on ready to say that everything was fine, because he was Damian Wayne, son of Batman, heir of the Al Ghul dynasty etc. - he had the speech covered by now -, but when he stared at Jon’s bright blue eyes looking at him in mildly concern, he sighed instead.

“I’m thinking about not being Robin anymore”.

Jon’s mouth opened a bit in surprised. “What? Why? You no longer want to be a superhero?”

Damian dismissed with his hand. “It’s not that”. He understood the preoccupation; for someone with his background, perhaps not wanting to be a superhero could be wanting to be something else entirely, considering the mother side of his family. “I no longer want to be a _sidekick_ ”.

“Oh”, Jonathan exclaimed, realization showing on his features for seconds before he gave a wide, too-over-the-top, blinding smile he loved to display and that bothered Damian for reasons he could not fathom, but always made him look away. “That’s great, D.! So that’s why you’re in Blüdhaven today?”, he asked, his face a myriad of expressions of things making sense inside of his brain. Seriously, Jon couldn’t ever lie to anyone in his life with that much transparency.

“Yes”, he admitted. Because he had doubts, and that’s just not something Damian Wayne _had_ , on a regular basis. He worried about not being good by himself, not on the fighting and kicking villains asses department, but on the _human_ part of it. Wasn’t someday the Al Ghul blood in him, his first childhood years of training, come out and dominate everything he learned from being alongside his father at Gotham? Was he _reliable_ to be alone and not becoming the monster he was raised to be?

“You could never be a monster”, came Jon’s voice, low and firm, so that’s when Damian realized he actually said all that out loud, in the open, for someone else to hear. Hell, he wasn’t sure he could even tell _Richard_ that much. “Because that’s just not who you are. I thought you would have that covered by now”.

Damian stared back at him, the firm gaze of Jon full of sincerity and uncovered affection. “You can wear any uniform, be called by any name, and you’ll still be you”, Jon continued, “So you do what feels right, even when it seems scary. That’s what my father always told me”.

Damian scoffed and turned his face away, “That does sound like your father”.

Jon gave a quick laugh, “It does, doesn’t it?”

The laughter left that open, blinding smile in its place, so Damian decided to change the subject to something that wasn’t himself or whatever he was _feeling_. It had been too much of a heart to heart for his liking, Damian had a reputation to uphold.

“So what’s with you?”, he asked, “What’s going on at Justice League Watchtower?”

“All business and no play”, Jon teased, and Damian wasn’t sure if he was answering him or talking about him. He gave no time for clarifications as he pointed at the living room direction, where Dick Grayson was still possibly slouched on the couch, “Your father asked the Justice League to make an armour for Nightwing, the kind it was made for Batman and used when you were…”, and this time _Jon_ diverted his eyes for a moment, “well, dead. Not that I’ve seen, I just heard about it. My father took me along because he’s having weird talks recently about wanting to stop being Superman. I guess everyone is recycling their lives right now”.

Damian smirked, “It has to happen sometime. So you’re taking over Metropolis?”

Jonathan shrugged. “I don’t really think father will actually retire any time soon. Besides, right now I’m still a college student”, he smiled, “I want to enjoy having a bit of a personal life for a second”. So he stopped, and seemed to consider if he should keep talking. Damian frowned, about to question what was going on, until Jon decided to blurt out, “It also seems I have a secret admirer”.

Damian raised one eyebrow, because he totally didn’t see _that_ coming. “What?”

Then Jon reached the pocket of his jeans and took out a folded piece of paper that he handed over in Damian’s direction. It was an weirdly familiar scene. When Damian read it, it was also an weirdly familiar poem. Oh, shit. He had totally forgotten about Myrina’s crush.

At least she had the decency of rewriting it herself.

“Someone put this under my dorm room's door last night”, Jon said, “It’s Walt Whitman”.

Damian rolled his eyes, “I _know_ it’s Walt Whitman”. Who did Jon think he was?

“Of course you do”, Jon mocked, and Damian wanted to throw that piece of paper on his face to shut his grin. He wrote the damn thing, c’mon. “So there’s either some creepy poem villain trying to lure me and kill me, or someone wants to date me. I’d prefer the latter”.

“Hn”, Damian commented, because what could he say? “For what, planning a marriage and a big family already?”

“I’m not really interested in meeting anyone right now”, Jon answered, taking the note back and looking at it kind of fondly, a small smile forming on his lips, “But it feels good when someone likes us enough to quote something like this, doesn’t it?”

Damian couldn’t tell why that question made him uncomfortable, but it did, so he kept silent.

* * *

It was kind of a reciprocity in Damian’s head. Although he was probably not going to admit it out loud, it ended up being really nice talking to Jon at Blüdhaven. He had felt welcomed, and honestly quite better at the thought of leaving behind Robin’s suit. And Jon, on the other hand, seemed content with the idea of having a secret admirer, as crazy and unbearable as Myrina could be - not that he knew it was her, anyway.

So Damian did some researches, because he was good at it. If his genes didn’t provide x-ray vision and flying powers, at least gave him the intellect to compensate that. When he found out what he wanted, he drove to Smallville, saturday afternoon. He was back the same weekend, and at the beginning of next week he was at San Francisco.

Myrina arched one eyebrow as she saw him.

“Tiny boss? What gives me the honour?”

Damian didn’t say a word - or the comment she deserved for the nickname - before extending to her an old newspaper clipping with a photograph and a small line below.

“That’s Martha and Jonathan Kent, Superboy’s grandparents. The baby they’re holding is Superman when he appeared at Smallville. The local newspaper at the time made a note about the adoption”. Myrina looked down, the legend of the photo was _Farmers Kent adopt a cute baby._ “Give this to Jonathan, he’ll like it. So he can remind where he came from and where he can go to when there’s people around who love him”.

Myrina stared at Damian in silent shock for a little while until her lips formed a wide smile, “I knew you would help me out, you pose tough but are secretly a nice guy”.

Damian snorted, putting the motorcycle helmet back on, “No, I’m not”.

She laughed, dismissing with her hand, “Of course you are”, then stopped, suddenly reminding, “But what do I write with this? He’ll have to know it’s mine!”

But Damian was already starting the engine, and just answered a short “Not my problem” before going away.

* * *

If Damian thought that the old newspaper with Jonathan’s grandparents was the end of having to deal with Myrina's crush - he didn’t think much what the end of it meant, even, because was Jonathan really have to go out with her? - then he couldn’t be more mistaken. She was again at Gotham two days later, when Damian was in the middle of a fight with local criminals selling wild _animals_. Oh, he could never forgive that.

The good part was that she even helped him, and knocked one of the guys with a particular well executed punch on his nose. The bad part was that, as soon as all the bad guys were rightly tied in, she shoved a new piece of paper to his chest.

“So”, she started, hands on her waist, “apparently you were wrong”.

And that sounded bad, because Damian Wayne didn’t like to be wrong, least of all twice a day. He took the paper to read, noticing a handwriting that wasn’t Jon’s.

_It’s to remind you where you came from and where you can go to when there’s people around who love you._

_From your secret admirer_

Oh, great, so she just sent Jonathan a note using Damian’s words? He took a deep breath to remind why he didn’t kill people anymore. Under the sender’s identification there was a mark of lipstick in the shape of a kiss, that Myrina probably kissed herself.

Damian raised one eyebrow, “So?”

She rolled her eyes, “Look behind, smart ass”.

Damian turned the paper over and there it was, unmistakably Jonathan’s calligraphy, the top of the letters always turning a bit to the right. It read:

_I’m really flattered, but I’m sorry to say that this can’t happen. There are some things about me that you don’t know._

And that really took a hole on Damian’s pride. Did Jonathan not like his family photograph on the newspaper? But how could this be possible? Damian didn’t just make mistakes so off like this. And what could’ve Jonathan possibly meant by things he didn’t know? He knew the guy since he was a tiny little kid who didn’t even know how to fly. There was absolutely nothing he didn’t know about him.

So that was it, Jonathan Samuel Kent? Was that how it was going to be?

Game on.

Damian looked over, back to Myrina, who was staring at him expectantly.

“What do I do now?”, she asked. Damian crumpled the note on his hand and tossed it on a nearby trash can from a distance. It fell perfectly inside, and Damian rejoiced one right thing about his night - besides catching awful people selling innocent animals. Then he passed by her, yelling,

“C’mon, we’re getting him a cat”.

* * *

It was a bit of a bold move, Damian knew, and it _could_ go terribly bad. Myrina helped him pick a cute grey kitten from an adoption center, that they putted on a tiny box with food and a hole, so it could breathe. On the outside of the box Damian glued a note he told Myrina to write:

_There’s nothing about you that would scare me away._

Myrina insisted on adding her lipstick kiss mark below as her trademark. She didn’t understand, however, what the cat or the note meant, so when she asked Damian his answer was the exact same one as the first time she showed interest on Superboy:

“None of your business”.

She rolled her eyes, “You do know that I’m the one giving him that, don’t you? So _I’ll_ be going out with him possibly on a date and stuff. Right?”

Damian snorted. “Of course. So when you do get your date, and after he’ll eventually like you well enough, if that’s even possible, _he_ can tell you”.

“That makes no sense”, Myrina complained, but she took the cat and the note either way, because if she already went so far on trying to give a few a kisses (and maybe more) on Superboy, why not one more try?

* * *

“I have a new cat”.

It was 1 a.m. Damian did stare at the clock on his bedside table before raising his eyes up to meet Superboy, full on uniform and all, entering the window of his bedroom at Wayne Manor. He would complain about the hour if they weren’t who they were and didn’t live the life they lived. And if anyone at Wayne Manor was actually asleep so early.

Damian did complain, though, when Jonathan put the grey kitten on the side of his bed while Damian was _sewing_ something.

“Kent, I’m working”, he pulled the fabric away from the small pawns that were already trying to grab it.

“Oh, sorry”, Jon held the kitten back, and Damian had a second of mental breakdown as he saw the cat trying to escalate Jon’s chest and thought it was kind of _cute._ He had to work harder on his soft spot for animals, before it turned him more like someone of the Super family than the Bat one. As he got distracted, Jon leaned over his work and Damian had a sudden surprise as he exclaimed, sounding excited,

“Are you making your new uniform?”

“Will you be _quiet_?”, Damian hissed, and Jon made an apologize gesture with his hands, followed by one of closing his mouth. Then he sat beside Damian on the bed, the kitten on his lap, letting out a little meow of complain when Jon blocked it from exploring the room. Damian looked down on the black and green matching patterns he was sewing together and didn’t know where it was leading to yet. “Something like that. I’m not yet sure about it, but I’m trying some things. I know continuing with the green may remember Robin, but at the same time it matches…”

“Your eyes”, Jon completed. Damian stared back at him.

“The batfamily, actually”. Even in the low light of the bedroom, only a lamp over Damian and the fabrics, he could see Jon’s face go a bright, intense shade of red. “I mean, Drake wears red, Grayson, blue, Gordon, yellow, Brown, purple, Todd, that brown jacket of awful taste. I thought the green would be fitting”, he stopped, parting the thread with his teeth, “But you’re right. It does match my eyes”.

Jon offered a smile so uncomfortable Damian could _feel_ it.

“So do you know what name are you going to use now?”, Jon spoke, quickly, a clear way out of the subject.

“Not yet”. Damian pulled over the outfit half done, showing a spot over the chest. “I’ll put the letter here, when I figure it out”.

“While you don’t know how to name yourself”, Jon started, keeping the kitten still one more time as it tried to sniff Damian, “want to name my new cat?”

Damian then put the clothing, needles, and threads aside and grabbed the cat from Jon’s lap, letting it smell his face for a while before putting it on his own lap; the kitten circulated over the same spot for a second and ended up cuddling itself between Damian’s legs. “What are you thinking of naming it?”

Jon didn’t answer for a while; he took a deep breath, audible on the dawn silence, and just shrugged when Damian looked back at him. “I don’t know. Thought you could help me out with something nice in arabic”.

Damian arched one eyebrow and smirked. “So you came here to use my heritage?”

“That makes me sound racist”, Jon complained, and before Damian could comment on it, he continued, “What about that word your mother used to say? That means my dear or something like that”.

“Habibi”, Damian answered, and perhaps he smiled genuinely a bit by reminding of his mother. Jon definitely saw that, because he smiled back and said,

“Habibi it is, then. Am I saying it right?”

“It could be better”. Jon made him a face. When Habibi was already stretching on his sleep, Damian decided to play a little of his detective role, “So how did you get it?”

Jon sighed, “Well, remember the secret admirer I told you about? That was it”. Damian was about to question more when he went on, “A bit weird, in a sense that she definitely knows things very few people know about. I cried a little when I saw this cat”, he made a vague gesture, “You know why. But it was pretty, the note that came with it. I wish I knew the girl behind it so I could explain personally why it won’t work”.

That made Damian frown. So the poem, the photograph, _and_ the cat didn’t work? But Jon said the note was pretty, didn’t he? Shouldn’t he be after Myrina this right second? It wasn’t possible that Jon didn’t like any of the gifts that Damian was 99% sure he was going to.

“Why don’t you give her a chance?”, Damian asked, then, because he needed to know what the problem was. Was it Myrina’s terrible handwriting skills? “She seems like she gave you nice things”.

Jon passed one hand through his messy hair, and it fell back all over the place. Habibi’s head also started to slowly fall from Damian’s thigh as it dreamed. “I’m not interested”, Jon answered, simply as that. Damian just couldn’t get it. “You’re right, everything was amazing, I wish I could reciprocate the effort, but I…”, he stopped, glaring at Damian in silence for what it felt like ages. Jon opened his mouth as if he was going to keep talking, but shut it again and took a deep breath. “Nevermind. Let’s just go back to think about your new hero persona”. 

“No, no, wait”, Damian cut him, reaching out for his bedside lamp to put it up so it could lit better Jon’s face, making him wince a bit with the sudden light and blink a few times to adjust. Habibi also felt disturbed with the movement and got up, walking out of Damian’s lap. Jon held it back before it got lost on the bedroom. “You what? Didn’t you say you liked what she wrote you, and that she…”, Damian stopped for a bit, thinking through what he could actually say without giving away that he knew much more about the situation, “That she really knows things about you. So what _is_ wrong, then?”

Jon stared at him for what it felt longer than before, like he was struggling with something that he didn’t really want to share. It had been ten years that they knew each other; Damian couldn’t imagine what the hell would cause that sort of reaction.

“Damian”, Jon sighed. “Shit, that’s not how I pictured this happening at all”.

He then gave a quick, humorless laugh, and Damian frowned, startled even with the use of the curse word, waiting for Jon to gather up all of his courage in one large intake of breath before blurting out:

“I don’t like girls”.

 _Oh,_ Damian thought, and possibly didn’t realize his mouth opening in surprise. Jon’s navy blue eyes were now piercing through him, defiant, the way his ten years old self used to stand before him and dare to be respected. That was it: Jon was defensive. In a way that Damian didn’t see around him in a long, long time. Of course, he could understand why.

“Oh”, he said, then, a shame of lack of eloquence for the son of Batman.

“Yeah”, Jon replied, mockingly, trying out a small smile, “ _Oh_ ”.

“I see”, Damian tried out. Still lame. But, well, now he could understand what was wrong with the gifts, and it was not the gifts themselves, but who were they _from_. If it wasn’t for that lipstick trademark of Myrina, perhaps Jon could’ve given the benefit of the doubt.

“Thought you could’ve guessed by now”, Jon spoke, laughing a bit, still sounding off and nervous, “Some detective”.

Damian frowned, because if there was something that he held onto was his pride, “How would I…”, but then Jon interrupted him, suddenly getting up, Habibi on both of his hands protesting with another meow.

“Anyway”, he said, “I think it’s kind of late”, that bastard, “I should get going. You have a lot to think about there”, he pointed to the scattered fabric on Damian’s bed, “so I’ll stop bothering for today. Thank you for Habibi’s name”.

And, before Damian could say a word, Jon left through the open window.

* * *

There was a sort of relief after Jon’s coming out. Firstly, he wouldn’t actually go out with Myrina, which meant he wasn’t going to _date_ her either, and if that had happened it would’ve been the weirdest thing Damian would’ve seen in a long time. Secondly, the failure of Myrina wasn’t his fault, so he could still consider himself as good at his work as before.

Damian only forgot one thing: that although Jon had told _him_ the truth, he didn’t tell the other person involved. So Myrina caught him on San Francisco when he had small business with Starfire one day, that involved a bit of Tamaranian help on trying out his new outfit resistance. He _could_ have called Jon for that, but he justified to himself that he wanted a hundred percent alien genes by guarantee. 

“I had no response about the cat”, Myrina sighed, sitting sloppily on a chair next to him. Damian was back at the Titans Tower after Kori was able to burn his clothes to the ground. Quite literally. So he was now at the computer, testing other types of technology he could apply. He didn’t really listen to Myrina complain at first.

“He probably didn’t like it much either, with that weird note that had nothing to do with it”, she continued. “What should we give him now?”

Damian didn’t look at her as he replied, “Nothing. You should give up, it’s not going to happen”.

The bad part of Jon’s coming out was that he couldn’t really tell people. Jon fled away way before Damian could think of question if he would be ok with that. So now he had to dissuade Myrina without telling her why.

“What?”, she exclaimed, surprised, “Why? Did he tell you something? Did he figure it out it was me?”

Damian turned to her for a while, “You’ve tried, haven’t you? You got a no. Move on”.

Myrina gaped. “I can’t believe you! You were the one so eager with that cat idea after he sent me that note dispensing me. What’s going on?”

“Nothing is going on. What do you want to do now? Kidnap him?”, Damian questioned, thinking briefly about the irony of his words.

Then Myrina got on her feet, face full of resolution and badly hidden indignation. “You know what? Maybe it all went wrong until now because I decided to follow _your_ weird leads. Perhaps I should just go after him and ask him out, say he has a nice body, things normal people do”.

Damian got back to his computer. “Just give up, Myrina. Do you ever have things not going your way? Remember why you’re not in Themyscira anymore”.

She gave him the finger, even though he couldn’t actually see, and walked out.

* * *

**Interlude of the boy that can fly (and barely hold a crush)**

Nine days. Not that Jon was counting. He held his breath when he focused on Damian’s heartbeat - twice a day, and yes, he knew he had promised not to anymore, but who would find out? - and prayed that it was normal and steady, because he didn’t want to go after Damian and actually have to _look at him_ any time soon.

Jon was so embarrassed of so many things about the night he popped out at Damian’s bedroom at Wayne’s Manor with Habibi that he couldn’t even begin to count. First of all, _habibi._ He could never get that word to sound so nice as when Damian pronounced with his fluency and his _voice_ and that small, caring smile reminding of his mother. Second of all, _it matches your eyes?_ Way to go, Kent, very subtle.

Third of all, not least important, he just blurted out that he didn’t like girls and flew out the window. If Jon didn’t know better, he would think he had been trapped on a time travel spell and had gone back all the way to adolescence. He still remembered, sixteen, all skinny limbs and misfitted tall height, barking into Damian’s bedroom window when he had only a towel on after shower. Jon got so flushed he knocked himself over Damian’s wardrobe, and promised himself he would never, ever enter Damian’s place like this again.

Why didn’t he fulfill his own promises?

Jon grunted, lowering his head on the table. It was the end of the last class of the day, and he couldn’t pay attention to a word the teacher had said. With so much luck he would not fail that subject entirely.

Then the bell rang, for his utter joy, so he could just be commiserate over himself at home. When he gathered up his things and finally got outside, there was a blonde, tall girl staring at him at the college’s gate. Her face looked kind of familiar, but Jon couldn’t point out from where, exactly.

“Superboy?”, she asked, and Jon’s eyes widened in horror. He moved fast to tap her mouth and looked around to see if anyone might’ve heard it. For his luck, people were just apparently still minding their own business.

“C’mere”, he whispered, holding her hand and pulling her aside to a place behind some bushes. When they stopped there, he let her go. “Who _are_ you?”

She puffed out her chest, throwing a bit of her golden hair to the side. It was a pretty girl, that would probably make a lot of the guys from his college jealous of Jon just by talking to her. “I’m Myrina”, she started. The name was also familiar. Wasn’t she the most recente Titan? From Themyscira? What was she doing at Metropolis University? “Daughter of Priene, third class of Amazonian’s…”

Yeah, she was the one. Jon made a gesture with his hand to stop her.

“Ok, ok, you don’t need to say it all”, if there was some emergency, she should just get on with it. And if she was a Titan, that could mean _Damian_ was in danger. Damn, Jon should have checked his heartbeat more than twice that day. “Why are you here?”

She took a deep breath. That was when Jon first noticed she seemed nervous, which made _him_ nervous as well. Then she spoke:

“I want you to go out with me”.

Jon raised an eyebrow. Did he hear her right? “ _What?_ ”

“I’m interested in you. You are handsome, strong, and seems like a nice, fair person”, she continued, and Jon felt like he was on an alternative universe. Perhaps that spell was indeed working on him and yet he made jokes about it. “I am your recent secret admirer. That gave you notes and gifts”.

“Wait”, Jon said, pointing at her. “ _You_? The poem? The _cat?_ ”

That was one of the craziest things he could have heard, because how could this girl send all of that to him? He didn’t even know her. He barely met her once, when he fought alongside Titans a month or so ago. Was she an extra smart detective, like the Bats? Or perhaps knew someone of his family and stalked his life?

“Yes. I know we don’t know each other well yet”, she commented, looking a bit embarrassed despite putting her best strong, decided face on. Jon felt empathy for her. “But I’m willing to try my best. I make a lot of efforts when I like something, I even went to Robin for help”, she smirked, “and he’s not the easiest person to be around”.

Jon’s mind went blank with shock at that.

“Robin?”, he repeated, slow and deliberate, “You asked for _Robin_ ’s advice about me?”

Myrina, daughter of Priene, third class of Amazonian princesses, nodded. Engines turned inside of Jon’s mind. That girl didn’t know him. And, well, she just said she did know some extra smart detective, like the Bats. And someone who, despite not being actual family, was really, really close by. Jon couldn’t tell if he was more surprised or angry, perhaps a very unhealthy mix of both. It did wonders to cool down his infatuation.

“So were that notes…”, Jon asked, thinking it carefully through, “Damian’s idea?”

“He told me what you liked”, she said, a bit hopeful and apprehensive at the same time, clearly afraid that Damian’s idea wasn’t really a good one, “I wasn’t very much a fan of the poem or the texts, but I did help pick the cat”. Jon’s eyes widened, and she continued on a hurry, “I know you didn’t like much either, hence you wrote that note back telling me off, but I wanted you to know that it wasn’t really me there. So if you give me a chance, we can get to know each other better. No interference this time”.

Jon didn’t even know there _was_ an interference the first time. He felt so overwhelmed with that discovery that he went speechless for a while, just looking back at Myrina as his brain ran over a marathon of memories of what was written on those notes, of the presents he received. _Fuck_ , he thought, and that was something, because he didn’t swear much on thoughts either.

 _It wasn’t really me there,_ Jon’s mind heard Myrina say on loop. Well, apparently it was someone else, then. Jon just needed to calm down, be nice to her, and _kill_ Damian Wayne.

“Look, Myrina”, Jon started; breath in, breath out. “I’m really surprised here, not going to lie. You seem like a really nice girl, for real. And you’re so pretty”, she gave a wide smile at that, “But I have to turn you down”, and the smile melted, just as it came.

“Why?”, she asked, the sadness on her voice sounding young and profound. Jon felt bad for her, so he decided for the whole truth.

“I’m gay”, he shrugged. Myrina’s eyes opened wide. “Also, I’m in love with an asshole. For about four years”. When she laughed at that, Jon felt part of the tension he was also holding vanish away. He offered her a smile that she returned timidly.

“Sorry to hear that, it happens to the best of us”, she said, voice still quiet and diminished.

“Can we at least be friends?”, Jon offered, then, opening his arms to call for a hug. Her smile enlarged at that and she took the invitation.

“We can be friends”, she affirmed.

If she did some extra pressing of her hands on his muscles as she held him, Jon let it pass without comment.

* * *

The sudden rush of air created a small turmoil that almost made Damian fall. He was patrolling Gotham that night, testing his new outfit, version improved after two afternoons locked on the Titans Tower. It still didn’t have a logo, because he still didn’t think of any suitable name, but it did give him better amplitude when he jumped off through rooftops. Damian had just made a leap and had barely stepped foot on ground when it happened.

Sudden huff of air, lots of dust raising from the ground. Damian lost balance and covered his eyes just out of habit, because his mask could’ve done the job just fine. He thought that something had felt from the sky, and, boy, couldn’t he be more _right_.

Apparently the speed of Jonathan’s flight was so high he stopped himself millimeters from hitting the floor. No Superboy outfit, which was odd because he didn’t usually fly through cities on civilian clothes. When Damian stared at him, Jon had his brows furrowed and he looked absolutely, utterly pissed.

Damian quirked one eyebrow.

“Rare to see you around here like this”, he said. Jon’s mouth formed a thin line, he looked so much like his father when he tried to be intimidating. “Is Metropolis that boring this evening?”

Jon crossed his arms on his chest.

“You”, he started. Damian could see this stare working on criminals, but it wasn’t close to scare him. It still had a softness poorly hidden inside that ocean blue, like you could dive there and pull it out. Jon didn’t seem to notice Damian’s seconds of distraction with his gaze as he went on, “were helping an amazonian named Myrina, your partner on Titans, by the way, to get to date me all this time”.

Damian’s eyes widened for a small fraction before sighing. So that stupid girl went looking for Jon on her own, after all. After Damian told her to drop it. _And_ she still opened her big mouth to told on him. Great. Insubordination was little, Themyscira, she needed a whole new pack of personality.

“I didn’t know you weren’t interested”, he said, and it sounded like an weak excuse even as he spoke it.

“I _told you_ I wasn’t interested”, Jon retorted, “Right from the beginning”.

Fair. Jon did tell something like that even at the night at Dick Grayson’s flat, with nothing much than the Walt Whitman’s poem. Then again, “Well, yes, but I didn’t know the reason”.

Jon snorted. “And then you sent the poor girl all the way to _Smallville_ to look for an old local newspaper with a photo of my grandparents”.

Damian diverted Jon’s furious gaze and opened his arms, “I didn’t send no one nowhere”. As Jon still stared at him with a blatant rage and distrust, he completed, “ _I_ did the research and _I_ went to Smallville. The only work she had was… was to give it to you”.

In a sudden Jon’s anger seemed to take a blow. He uncrossed his arms, his stare a mix of surprise and scrutiny, like he didn’t expect that.

“ _You_ went to Smallville?”, he repeated, and Damian nodded. It wasn’t that much of a shock, it was not like Smallville was in another continent. Jon seemed to consider it for a second before continuing, slowly, “And you quoted me Walt Whitman”.

“It’s your favorite poet”, Damian answered, because it was true. He knew it, and he knew Walt Whitman’s poem, so what was the big deal.

Jon laughed at that. Not an usual, joyful laughter he usually had, but a quick, breathy one. “ _Oh, my god,_ I can’t believe you”, he exclaimed, mostly to himself. “Did she do anything at all? Except appearing at my college this morning, I mean”, then he seemed to remember something, and questioned, a flash of indignation crossing back by his features, “Did you tell her about the cat?”

Damian rolled his eyes, “ _Of course_ not. I told her to get you a cat and she went with me to the animal shelter, that was it.”

Jon frowned, still suspicious. “And that note?”

Well, that was a question which its answer made Damian uncomfortable. He shifted on his place, hopefully unnoticed. Yes, he could quote Walt Whitman, and maybe Myrina had used his words on the second note, but he didn’t deliberately tell her to. That last note was kind of… maybe a little much… _personal._ A fake personal, Damian reminded himself, but still. He hated demonstrating that he _cared_ about people so blatantly like that, even if it was under someone else’s name.

“I told her to write that note”, he admitted, at last. What other escape could he possibly get?

He saw Jon breathing in and looking away, to a far point on another Gotham building's rooftop. Then he turned back, stare firm on Damian’s face. He started, brows still furrowed, “You do realize”, he stopped for a second, “that you went through _a lot_ just to woo me, don’t you?”

Damian went silent at that, and that was a first. Did he, really? He knew he wasn’t supposed to embark on Myrina’s crazy ideas since the beginning. Shouldn't she be the one being scolded right now?

“I was just helping her”, Damian tried out, although even he didn’t believe much his words at this point. If anything, all of these times he utterly denied helping her in any way.

Jon gave another breathy, incredulous laughter. “Did you want so much to see her dating me?”

“Not really”, Damian answered, honest, “I actually thought it would be an awful idea”. Jon opened his arms in confusion, and before he could say anything Damian was quick to amend, “I mean, she is crazy”.

And Jon laughed for real at that. It left that ghost of smile that Damian hated because it was so… mesmerizing. Jon still had a face of amusement as he spoke, “I don’t mind the craziness. It’s just…”

“Wrong gender”, Damian finished for him, nodding, because yes, he didn’t know before, but he knew now. Jon corrected him, though, right after,

“Wrong _person_ ”. Jon passed one hand through his hair, the way he did when he was sitting beside Damian on his bed, a small, baby cat walking around their laps. It left the same mess of hair strands all over the place, the kind that made Damian want to reach and fix. “Look, D…”, he started, and, again the same way as that night, he seemed hesitant. Damian was waiting for him to suddenly flight away and disappear for another nine days. Not that he was counting.

Then Jon took a deep breath, and if the last time what he blurted out was surprising, Damian had no words for this one:

“I would’ve said yes if it was you”.

Damian’s eyes widened, “What?”

“If you wanted to date me”, Jon repeated, firmly, “I would’ve said yes”.

Damian just didn’t know what to say to that. He stared back at Jon quietly as he continued:

“It wouldn’t even need that much trouble”, Jon laughed that humorlessly laughter again, then looked at Damian’s eyes with a very fond, very determined gaze, “You could’ve just asked”.

And Damian _could_ deny it. He honestly thought about changing the subject, ask what the hell Jonathan was talking about, laugh it out as a crazy, stupid joke. But he stared back at him, that fucking transparent face that could never lie with that nervousness and bravery, and it felt both completely wrong and completely fitting at the same time. That stupid hair, stupid smile, stupid way that he stared at Damian like he was someone really precious instead of a constant walking problem.

Hell, he quoted Walt Whitman. Drove all the fucking way to Smallville for a small, old report of Superman’s adoption. Said, with all words, that even the darkest secrets of Jonathan’s life were not sufficient to keep him away. To be fair, Damian was actually good with presents, but he did normally reserved them for _special_ people.

“That easy?”, Damian asked, then, raising one eyebrow. He wasn’t used on having easy in his life.

Jonathan laughed. “What can I say?”, he shrugged, “Right person”. He bit his lower lip for a second, a clear sign of apprehensiveness. “Right person for _years_.”

And before Damian could say anything to answer _that,_ Jonathan did what he used to when he was tense: he kept talking.

“I liked the new uniform”, he pointed out. Damian had almost forgotten he had it on, after everything. His first night as a no name vigilant. “It’s good on you”.

“Thanks”, Damian replied, looking down at the green pattern on his chest. “It’s still a prototype. And still lacking a symbol”.

Before he knew it, when he raised his head back up, Jon was much closer than he was before. He approached one more step as his right hand lifted to reach the bottom end of Damian’s eye mask. Jon’s voice was low when he asked,

“Can I take this off for a second?” Damian didn’t reply, because he felt disoriented a bit, Jon’s lips barely an inch from his, forming words that he wasn’t really listening to. “There’s no people around”.

Right, because he was supposed to be hiding his face at that instant, unlike aliens and their disregard for secret identities. Damian thought it wouldn’t do that much harm, just the two of them on the top of a tall building, night descending upon Gotham City, Jon already on civilian clothes (obviously _plaid_ ). Instead of giving permission, Damian himself raised his hand and took off his mask. Jon looked right at him for a second before commenting,

“It does match your eyes”.

Damian pulled him by the back of his neck and kissed him.

* * *

**Postlude of the boy of steel (and of patience)**

Jonathan let out an appreciative sound, followed by a large intake of breath, when Damian’s other hand, the one that wasn’t creating a havoc on his hair, crawled under his shirt, up the small of his back. It had his uniform gloves on, and he still held the eye mask, but it was amazing, anyway. He pulled Damian closer by the embrace on his shoulder, face turning to kiss him from another angle, deeper, _more._

Damian bit and pulled Jonathan’s lower lip with his teeth, and when they broke apart Jonathan felt… indescribable. He let his hands roam over the back of Damian’s neck, up his head, until he held him right by his ear and _grinned like an idiot._

Damian frowned at him, “What are you laughing at?”

Jon wanted to stop to answer him, he really did, but he still grinned some more because he just couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry”, he said, then, letting his forehead bump against Damian’s to find support there. “I thought this would never happen”.

Damian’s hand got from the small of his back to his waist; Jonathan noticed it still didn’t move from under his shirt.

“You did say you wanted to date me”, he said. Jonathan thought he would never be able to remove that stupid large smile from his own face,

“That I did, yeah”, he kissed Damian’s lips lightly, a few more times, just because he could, “You didn’t ask me, though”.

Damian rolled his eyes, now visible without his mask on. “I gave you a _cat_ ”, he complained.

Jon laughed, because he felt light and idiot, “And sent me notes, gave me a rare photograph of my grandparents, stayed with me on a rooftop until dawn when I needed you, stood up for me when even I doubted myself, helped me control my own powers... That’s part of the reasons why I’d say yes”, he stopped for a second. He moved his fingers along Damian’s neck, and the shiver he sensed on his skin was a _delight_. Jon completed, “If you asked me”.

He _was_ teasing, in a way. Analytically speaking, he opened up much more than Damian. And face to face too, bluntly admitting he wanted Damian for years now, instead of hiding himself behind a supposedly crush of someone else. So yeah, blame Jonathan for pushing a little bit.

Damian looked as annoyed as he usually was when Jonathan insisted on something he didn’t want to do. He took a big breath, and it seemed like a huge effort when he spoke,

“I suppose I want to date you too”. The hand that were previously on Jon’s hair joined the other under his shirt. He raised them up Jonathan’s spine, and when Jon arched his back on a shiver, he knew it was Damian’s revenge. Oh. He could happily play along with that kind of competition. “If you’d have me”.

So Jonathan pulled Damian back and kissed him again, just for good measure. He honestly could keep kissing him for the rest of the day. And the day after that. And after after that. And probably four more years to compensate all of that agonizing past of longing and pining. Jonathan only stepped back to answer, all smiles and _love_ ,

“There’s nothing about you that would scare me away either”.

**Author's Note:**

> Aqualad knew something was suspicious since day one, you can tell.


End file.
